


baby let's get fresh (it's like we just met)

by dayatiny



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Song Mingi, Dom/sub Undertones, Even if You're Not in Love with Song Mingi (You're a Little in Love with Song Mingi), I......apologize this is not the best, Kang Yeosang Deserves a Raise, M/M, Massage Therapist Jeong Yunho, MinJoong are Best Bros, Mingi's Thighs Appreciation Nation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Seonghwa is Disappointed but Not Surprised, Smut, Song Mingi is Stressed, Top Jeong Yunho, im having too much fun in these tags, obligatory STAN ATEEZ, this is pure filth sorry yall, will I ever succeed in crafting a compelling summary? survey says no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 22:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayatiny/pseuds/dayatiny
Summary: Idol life is a constant, never-ending source of stress.Mingi just takes it a bit harder than most.ENTER: Jeong Yunho.





	baby let's get fresh (it's like we just met)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry mom :U
> 
> (please heed the tags and if this isn't your cup of tea feel free to click off the page!)

Mingi would say that he ‘isn’t the most laidback guy’. Mingi’s friends would say that he’s ‘working himself to an early death’. It’s whatever; everyone has different opinions. 

The truth is, Mingi can’t remember the last time he ever felt truly relaxed. Sometime between the blur of textbook pages and days in the studio that was his teenage life, Mingi became...an adult. Strictly in title - he can’t claim practically any of the hallmarks of young bachelorhood. His only friends are industry insiders - and god, he loves them, but it feels like he hasn’t had a meaningful conversation with someone outside of his work in years. And, by extension, dating around is pretty difficult - with not only the need for discretion because of the nature of his job but also his busy schedule to contend with. 

So Mingi’s chronically single; and yeah, it gets to him sometimes. But so what if some nights, after a long day of schedules or touring or charity events, all Mingi wants is to be held and comforted and maybe told that it’s all worth it, that he’s doing well, that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself? Everybody wants that. Everybody can’t always get what they want. Mingi will just keep quietly wanting, and it’s probably better that way. It’s not like he has time for a relationship, anyway.

The guys don’t agree. Hongjoong, the meddler that he is, has practically rallied his team against him. Something something _unhealthy coping mechanisms_ something something _not taking care of your health_ something something _I know you were in the studio till 4AM last night dumbass the room keeps records._ Mingi knows its coming from a good place - Hongjoong is his most beloved senior, the only person to have faith in his capabilities as a performer and artist when he was fresh in the music world. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t _really fucking inconvenient_.

Mingi thinks it speaks volumes to Hongjoong’s pure persuasive power that his own stylist is staring judgmentally down at Mingi from where he sits in the prep chair.  
“I _thought_ you were cancelling your schedule for today,” Seonghwa smiles menacingly down at Mingi, combing his bangs to the side with unnecessary force. Mingi winces under the weight of his stare.

“Oh, uh, did Joong-hyung say that?” Mingi laughed good-naturedly, mentally cursing his overly-involved friend. “He must’ve been confused. I don’t need to cancel.” 

“Mingi-ah,” his stylist begins, through a strained smile. “I don’t think I have enough concealer for the bags under your eyes. This is above my pay grade. Ah, you’re going to have to get a different stylist. How tragic! I’ll get assigned an idol who actually takes care of themselves instead of a bratty, stubborn, workaholic - ”

“I’m sorry, alright, hyung?” Mingi attempts to appeal to Seonghwa’s pity. He almost makes a quip about how Seonghwa is _dating_ a bratty, stubborn, workaholic idol, but refrains because if anything it’d only hurt his case. And, truthfully, Hongjoong had gotten a lot better since meeting Seonghwa - the older man smoothed his rough edges, made him truly happy, _settled_ him; Mingi pushes down the stab of inappropriate longing at the love his friends have managed to achieve. “There’s just been so much going on recently…I can’t really...afford to slack.”

Seonghwa doesn’t try to lecture him any more; he just exhales strongly through his nose and resumes prettying Mingi up for his stage in silence. Somehow, it’s worse - Mingi feels his stylist’s disappointment like lead in his stomach. Mingi’s been disappointing a lot of people, lately.

As he prepares to face the crowd, he feels his persona slip on like a well-worn coat, comforting and familiar. He adjusts his mic and steps out, to widespread cheer and enthusiasm. These are the people he never disappoints - and Mingi holds onto their love like a lifeline.

\----------

“ - so, it took a while, but I’ve found somebody,” came the calm, measured voice of Mingi’s manager.

Mingi willed himself into semi-consciousness from where he’s resting his chin against his palm. He loves his manager, really; Kang Yeosang is one of the most efficient people he’s ever met, and gives amazing advice to boot - pretty much all you could ask for in a manager and friend - but _goddamnit_ he has the most ASMR-voice to ever ASMR and Mingi is already operating on less than all cylinders. It’d be more criminal to _not_ take advantage of routine briefing time to catch some Z’s.

Even so, Mingi rouses himself just enough to mumble a hazy “...congrats, hyung…” before nodding off again.

“That’s my line,” Yeosang smiles, poking Mingi with a business card until he blinks awake again. “I think this’ll be really good for you.”

Mingi squints at the card in his hand.

 _Jeong Yunho. Professional Massage Therapist._

The words are embossed in curling black letters alongside a phone number, email, and address. 

“Why would I need massage therapy?” Mingi asks, cagily, trying to press the card back into Yeosang’s hand. Yeosang tucks his hands out of sight, a nonverbal ‘no take-backsies’.

“Besides the fact that your choreographers have been whining in my ear for a week straight about how stiff and tense you are during practices?” There’s no bite to his words, just brutal honesty. “I’m not even going to start on how exhausted you’ve been. Have you read the article on sleep debt I forwarded you? I think it’d be informative. And massage therapy has tons of benefits besides muscle relief, you know, it can actually help with the regulation of your circadian ryth- “

Mingi had tuned him out after the comment about his lacking performance, zeroing in on the minor criticism. “I’ll work harder,” he promised, pushing his hair back and running the mental calculations as to when he’d have time to fit in extra dance practice. Mingi took out his phone and opened his calendar app, biting the nail of his thumb as he examined his planned events.

The device was firmly removed from his grasp. Mingi frowned petulantly up at Yeosang.

“Not the point,” the older man chided. “I didn’t want to have to threaten you into this, but if you’re not even going to consider the prospect, I will.” Yeosang cleared his throat, clearly about to make some manner of ultimatum. 

“No, hyung, I’m sorry,” Mingi apologized in advance, hurriedly. He wasn’t a child - and more than that he knew how uncomfortable it made Yeosang when their working relationship was strained. For the most part, he preferred to wield his managerial power as lightly as possible, treating Mingi as a friend and subordinate rather than an underling, and Mingi had so much respect for him because of it. 

“I’ll try it out, uh,” Mingi fumbled for the card. “ _Jeong Yunho’s Massage Therapy._ Can you set an appointment up for me? It might even help,” he lied through his teeth. Privately, he bemoaned what a waste of time the appointment would be, time that he could be using to work on literally anything else - but if this was what it took to get everyone off of his back, Mingi would gladly suffer through it.

\----------

Mingi sat in the waiting room of an - admittedly nice - office. He tugged his facemask up a little higher, feeling bizarrely on-display despite the fact that the only other inhabitants of the room were the secretary at the front desk and an older woman reading a magazine. He waited for his name to be called, and sternly stopped himself from fiddling with the loose strings in his sleeve or the hangnail on his index finger each time he became aware of the nervous impulses.

It wasn’t long before the secretary called him by his name, and Mingi had to shake off his initial surprise before answering - Yeosang had assured him that this particular clinic was top quality, and worked with celebrities often enough to know the value of discretion.

Mingi shuffled through the doorway of the room his first session was to be held in. The room had a surprising amount of personal touch to it - soft music drifted out of an unseen speaker, and the lighting was mellow and warm. The massage table looked surprisingly comfortable, big and plush, and the sink by a cupboard was adorned with small potted succulents. The room _screamed_ relaxing, but Mingi felt more on edge than ever. 

A polite knock sounded at the door, interrupting Mingi’s observations. A male voice lilted through the door.

“You can go ahead and undress, I’ll be with you shortly!” Mingi heard the sound of footsteps retreating.

Mingi already felt overwhelmed. It’s not that he hasn’t been… _intimate_ with people before, and god knows with the job he holds half of his closest friends have seen him naked. And Mingi knows, objectively, that he’s not an eyesore - he’s read enough rave comments about his strong thighs and trim waist and height online to not completely hate his body(his face is another thing entirely; Mingi isn’t sure he’ll ever get what people like about it), but derobing in this unfamiliar space still gets his fingers shaking the slightest bit.

Sooner rather than later, Mingi is standing, shivering in his Calvin Klein briefs as he waits to meet the man that’s been designated the task of fixing him.

After a short rap at the door, and an “I’m coming in!”, Mingi meets Jeong Yunho. The only preconceived knowledge about the man Mingi has is his profession and that he’s a bit older than Mingi’s manager.

The first thing Mingi notices is his smile, because it’s being directed at him unfairly brightly, and the second thing Mingi notices is his height. He’s got a few centimeters on Mingi - which is already kind of strange. The next thing he does is stranger.  
Jeong Yunho laughs at Mingi. It’s just a chuckle, granted, but there’s mirth in the brunette man’s eyes and he leans against the doorframe with a grin, just _looking_ at Mingi.

Mingi bristles. “What?” He grouses, hands making an aborted attempt to cover his nipples before Mingi realizes what a cliche and oddly feminine thing it is to do. His hands clench awkwardly at his sides.

Yunho keeps smiling at him. “Oh, nothing I just - you haven’t been here before, right?” He moves to the little desk in the back of the room, getting out a file. Mingi sizes him up. Yunho is handsome, in that fatal boy-next-door way. He moves with confidence, and his hands are big and capable. Mingi hates how, of all the people Yeosang could’ve picked, Mingi ended up with a man he’s sure he’s going to end up either crushing on or popping an embarrassing boner around during sessions. Life is cruel. 

Yunho turns around and raises an unfairly attractive eyebrow, and Mingi realizes he never answered his question.

“I’ve never been to a masseuse, period,” Mingi blurts, hands wringing in front of him. Mingi tries to squash the ugly little voice in his head that tells him how ridiculous he looks, how this man he just met thinks he’s an incompetent idiot.

“Massage therapist,” Yunho corrects, coming around to stand in front of Mingi. “I’m sorry for laughing, earlier, I just expected you to be under the covers by the time I got in,” he explains, gesturing to the massage bench and the blanket draped over it. Mingi feels like the world’s biggest dumbass; and awkwardly moves to situate himself on the bench.

“You’re fine,” Mingi whispers, feeling odd about being face down and unaware as to what Yunho is doing above him.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Mingi-ssi,” comes Yunho’s voice from Mingi’s left. He doesn’t know how to describe the man’s voice - it’s smooth like honey but _sure_ \- something about his tone radiates security and safety. Maybe Mingi is just noticing these things because he can’t see the man and all he has to focus on is his voice; regardless, he thinks he could listen to it forever. 

“I’m going to start now, alright? Don’t be startled,” Yunho hums, tugging the blanket down to reveal Mingi’s back from the hips up. Mingi can hear the slick sounds of what must be massage oil being spread onto Yunho’s hands. Mingi can also hear his heart thumping in his chest.

“If anything is uncomfortable or feels too painful, just let me know.”

Mingi meeps a reply. 

Soft hands land on his back, rubbing the oil into his skin in long strokes. The idol can’t help but tense a bit at the unfamiliar touch. Yunho continues on; smooths the oil over Mingi’s shoulderblades, works it into the small of his back with no hesitation. 

Yunho begins to work on him once he deems Mingi appropriately warmed-up and slippery. He starts at the base of his neck, digging into the knots there as Mingi tries to regulate his breathing. His hands are firm, but not rough.

The older man keeps up a running dialogue about what he’s doing and what muscles he’s focusing on as he moves downwards, and Mingi is thankful for it - not just because of how lovely Yunho’s voice is but because it gives him something to focus on besides the feeling of an attractive man’s hands dangerously close to his hips.

Mingi feels like he’s done a pretty good job acting the part of the unbothered patient fairly well, until goddamn _Jeong Yunho_ decides to make their session interactive.

“So, Mingi-ssi, what has you so stressed you came all the way to my humble practice?” The brunette asks, light tone in direct contrast to the strength with which he presses into a spot between Mingi’s shoulder blades.

“I’m _ahhhn_ idol,” Mingi’s voice breaks a little as Yunho’s knuckles push punishingly hard into his flesh. “Shouldn’t you, ah, know that?” He shuts up, opting to instead bite his lip against Yunho’s ministrations.

“An idol?” Yunho hums. He’s rucked Mingi’s sheet up till it rests just beneath the swell of his ass, and he can’t help an involuntary noise of surprise from escaping.

“Shh, just moving down,” Yunho soothes, before Mingi could even clear his throat and try to preserve his dignity. The other man is quiet suddenly - his hands pause on the backs of Mingi’s thighs - before massaging his hamstrings slowly, oiled hands gliding over Mingi’s tanned skin. Yunho resumes speaking after a quiet, tense moment.

“That makes sense. You’ve got the idol look.”

Mingi twists his head as much as he can to stare incredulously at the taller man. “And what exactly is that?”

He can’t help but feel like he’s being made fun of; that Yunho is being disingenuous. Mingi has read the articles - hell, he’s stayed up, obsessively tracking his own comments sections until he could practically recite hatemail word per word - and he knows he’s not a visual idol. He’s good at what he does, and that’s why he’s successful - Mingi’s not stupid enough to think his looks have anything to do with it.

Yunho moves up Mingi’s body, the ghost of his hand squeezing almost warningly into the back of his neck. Mingi grudgingly returns to his position, face down and deprived of his sight. 

“Pretty,” the brunette supplies, before returning to his spot by Mingi’s lower half. Yunho keeps a hand on him at all times, even when he’s not actively working the tension out of his body - leaving warm trails with his fingers that almost feel like a reassurance, like _i’m here, don’t worry._

Mingi curls a bit into the bed at the word; pressing his face deeper into the pillow of his folded arms as he feels a hot flush spread from his cheeks to his ears. _It’s been **way** too long if I’m getting hot and bothered over my fucking masseuse._

Luckily, the other man doesn’t comment on Mingi’s sudden squirming, only continues to work down the idol’s legs. 

Mingi isn’t sure when it happens - sometime between Yunho gently urging him to turn over with a touch to his hips - his _sensitive_ hips - and spreading new oil over Mingi’s chest, Mingi feels himself getting… _excited_.

Logically, there’s no way Yunho kept scraping his fingernails by Mingi’s nipples on purpose. But it seemed that way - at first, Mingi felt almost ticklish with how the older man was practically groping his chest; but all the giggles in his throat quickly died as Yunho just...kept swiping his thumbs over Mingi’s nipples. Every time Yunho’s hands slid down Mingi’s torso, he managed to flick teasingly at the hardening buds.

It didn’t help that they were _face to face_. Mingi bit the inside of his cheek, eyes cast off to the corner of the room. He knew if he looked down he’d see his cock, tenting the fabric of the little sheet given for modesty. He knew if Yunho looked down he’d see the same thing. 

“C-can I turn back around?” Mingi requested, breathily high when Yunho kneaded _hard_ at his stomach. The look on his face was intense; his bottom lip was caught by his front teeth and his brows has a slight furrow to them. A stray lock of brown hair curled on his forehead from where the rest was pushed to either side. Mingi fought the urge to press his legs together in embarrassment, reasoning that it’d only draw attention to the half-chub he was currently sporting.

A honeyed gaze flickered up to meet Mingi’s. Yunho paused in his efforts, big hands resting feather-light on the flat of Mingi’s abdomen, right above the low-riding line of his briefs.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Mingi’s fingers itch at his sides, and he breaks their stare to focus on the smooth lines of the ceiling panelling. He mumbles a halfhearted _no._ He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. He’s afraid Yunho will ask him why; that is, if he didn’t already realize.

It’s quiet, and Mingi can feel Yunho’s eyes on his face; his hands resting on flesh that’s starting to goosebump underneath his touch. 

Yunho huffs a laugh, softly. The next thing Mingi feels are guiding hands turning him over in place, soft but insistent. Mingi resituates himself and stifles a whine at the press of his dick from inside his briefs against the soft drape of the massage bench.

The other man continues in silence for a while. Mingi has mostly given up on trying to retain his dignity; gasps punctuating every other strong touch of Yunho’s capable fingers. Yunho is pressing him practically into the bench with the force behind his massaging, and Mingi wants to cry at the unfairness of it all; his cock rubbing involuntarily against the surface of the bench. Yunho works at a knot at the base of Mingi’s spine, and for each muffled whine that escapes Mingi’s trembling lips he presses harder into his skin, deeper; like a reward. 

Mingi cants his hips up, shamelessly, accidentally, when Yunho’s big hands slide down to rest just above the line of the towel. He can’t believe that this is a thing that’s happening - that he’s having one of the most sensual experiences of his young life in a masseuse office with a man he barely knows. He’s not exactly sure what the hell he’s doing, but Yunho is going with it, feeding into him, enabling him.

“Is this okay?” comes Yunho’s voice, clear and professional - in sharp contrast with the fingertips drawing patterns just below the fold of the material over his ass. Mingi can’t shake his head fast enough.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine, you’re fine,” he babbles, fingers twisting in the plush material of the bench cover. Mingi’s whole body feels like a puddle of goo; he’s heady with pleasure and his limbs are loose. His inhibitions are looser. Yunho hesitates for a moment longer; likely debating whether or not he should _really_ be doing this. He comes to a conclusion.

Yunho hooks his thumbs into Mingi’s briefs and the sheet both, dragging them down together tantalizingly slow. Mingi hides his face in his arms and lifts his hips to make the removal easier. He hears Yunho swear, quietly, over his shoulder. This wasn't what he expected when he came to the clinic, but _god_ Mingi's been so starved for touch...it can't _hurt_.

“I don’t usually do this,” Mingi feels compelled to explain in the silence looming over him. “I haven’t - with anyone, y’know, in, well, a wh- _ohhh_ ,” he ends in a sigh when Yunho cups his ass in the palms of his hands, groping and spreading Mingi’s cheeks with slow deliberateness. The slide of his hands is smooth against Mingi’s skin, and Mingi presses into it. None of what’s happening feels real; it’s like Yunho’s office is a sacred respite, a space safe from the stresses of Mingi’s career and friends where the only thing that matters is the press of warm skin on warm skin.

Mingi jolts at the feeling of a featherlight kiss against his tailbone. Yunho is still just massaging his ass, thumbs dipping briefly into Mingi’s crack, teasingly close. Mingi’s breath hitches when he realizes Yunho is sitting back on his knees behind Mingi, up on the wide bench for room to play with Mingi’s ass. Mingi adjusts accordingly; tucking his knees up underneath his torso and arching his back in what he hopes is an appealing way. He hisses a breath at the feeling of his cock squeezed between his thighs.

“You’re _dangerous_ ,” Yunho complains, still cupping and squeezing Mingi’s ass. Mingi can’t help but flush at what he must look like; all glistening and presented for Yunho’s viewing pleasure.

“That’s my line,” Mingi says, in a small voice. 

“You’ll have to forgive me for stealing it,” Yunho laughs, surprised. “Is it alright if I-?”

Mingi hears the snap of what must be the bottle of massage oil.

“Yes, yes, please,” Mingi rushes to confirm, flushing immediately after at how he answered practically before the words finished leaving Yunho’s mouth.

The next thing Mingi feels is a drizzle of cool oil dripping down the crack of his ass and balls. He shivers a bit, because he’d been spoiled thus far with pre-warmed liquid on Yunho’s hands and the difference was jarring. 

“Yunho-ssi,” Mingi clears his throat when it becomes clear that the older man is just going to keep staring directly at Mingi’s most private place instead of _doing something_. “I, uh...the oil, it’s - “

“Hyung,” Yunho corrects, with humor. “I think we’re plenty well-acquainted,” he teases, dipping the tip of his thumb _just inside_ of Mingi without warning before retracting it. Mingi clenched with a gasp, and heard the slick noise of massage oil in his asshole dripping. The idol thunked his head down in humiliation, pressing his thighs closed with a whine.

Yunho was patient; he rubbed reassuring circles into Mingi’s hips, easing his legs open again. “You’re fine, pretty,” he insisted as Mingi continued to relax. “You’re doing so well for me, Mingi-ah, doing perfect.”

Mingi’s heart did somersaults in his chest. He felt like putty in Yunho’s hands, felt like he had handed over control for once in his life to someone else, someone who’d be careful with him. And, in true Mingi fashion, instead of vocalizing his appreciation he backpedaled.

“Do you fuck all of your patients?” Mingi blurted, defensively, even as he pushed back into where Yunho was rubbing oil into the ring of his asshole. He already felt relaxed, there, like Yunho could just hold him down and push inside without too much trouble. He almost wanted him to, with how long Yunho was taking to just _get around to it_.

Yunho declined to answer for a moment, leaning down to lavish another kiss onto the small of Mingi’s back - and pressing his middle finger into Mingi until the second knuckle in one slick slide. Mingi’s toes curled, and he had at once the dual impulse of clenching down on the foreign object and backing into it with a happy sigh. He did a little of both.

“Only if they spread their legs as sweetly as you do,” came a murmur by Mingi’s ear. The idol shivered from the proximity. Yunho had taken to loomed over Mingi completely, working a finger in and out of Mingi’s ass with leisure, and pressing his clothed chest to Mingi’s naked back as he left butterfly kisses over the younger man’s jaw. Mingi briefly wondered how Yunho planned to explain away the mess after everything was said and done, but his train of thought was cut off by a second finger breaching his entrance and Yunho’s mouth sucking a bruise into Mingi’s neck. 

Mingo moaned, shamelessly, through the stretch, rocking back against Yunho’s long fingers in slow, short little movements, getting used to the feeling. Yunho cupped Mingi’s jaw in his other hand, holding him in place to lavish Mingi’s collarbones with little bites, soothing the hurt with his tongue when Mingi whined. 

Yunho wasn’t much taller than he was, but it felt like the older man was everywhere, all at once - like he could make Mingi move any way he so wished, a long line of heat against his body that Mingi couldn’t sweat out. And he was _sweet_ , crooning in Mingi’s ear, telling him what a wonderful job he was doing and how gorgeous he was, how good he was being for Yunho.

Yunho slid a third finger into Mingi, whispering in Mingi’s ear about how soft he was, how warm and tight and lovely he was. Mingi’s voice, usually so deep, lauded by his fans, was crackly and hiccupping on his moans - he wondered what they’d say if they could see him like this.

“Hyung, please, it’s - a lot, it’s too much,” Mingi breathed, full with Yunho’s fingers and indecisive as to whether he should press his ass back or grind his flushed cock against the bench, aching for release. 

“You’re okay, baby, you’re almost there,” Yunho hummed, lips catching the corner of Mingi’s mouth from over his shoulder - and all of a sudden Mingi wanted nothing more than a kiss from his hyung; cursed this position for denying it to him. “Tell me if you wanna come, you have to tell hyung.” Mingi noticed, through the haze of pleasure, that Yunho wasn’t at all unaffected like Mingi had thought previously- his breathing was irregular and there was a desperate pitch in his voice. 

“‘M so close, hyung,” Mingi confessed, rushedly. He reached over his shoulder to slide his fingers through Yunho’s hair, mess up that professional look a little; tug him where he was supposed to be, in the crook of Mingi’s neck. In the moment, it didn’t occur to him at all that all the marks Yunho was leaving on him would have to be later painstakingly concealed by - probably - Seonghwa. That was a problem for after he came. 

“I wanna kiss, though, can we kiss? If it’s not - _ah_ weird,” he continued, turning his head as much as he could to meet Yunho’s heavy-lidded gaze, gasping when the older man crooked his fingers inside of Mingi and hit his prostate _perfectly_.

Yunho gazed at him with something like fondness in his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. Mingi beamed.

They repositioned, fumblingly - Mingi snorted at the huff Yunho let out when Mingi accidentally elbowed him, and Yunho swiped a thumb against the head of Mingi’s cock in retaliation - lips curling in satisfaction when Mingi’s giggles tapered off into a groan.

Mingi reclined on his back, hips tilted up by one of the massage pillows Yunho pushed underneath him for ease of access and knees bent up towards his shoulders. He felt, somehow, more vulnerable than when Yunho had him pinned on his stomach with three fingers in his ass. Mingi’s mind was odd like that.

Yunho took the time to remove his pants and underwear - Mingi stared openly at Yunho’s dick, the same thickness as Mingi’s and a tad longer with a charming curve to it. _I want it in my mouth,_ whispered Mingi’s lizard brain. Mingi agreed.

In the move to reposition, some of the urgency to come had been lost, and what had been a broiling fire in the pit of Mingi’s stomach simmered to a pleasant heat. Mingi, wanting to get back to that peak, made grabby hands at Yunho after the taller man finished undressing, immediately caging him between his legs when he got close enough.

“Jesus, your thighs,” Yunho marvelled, wandering hands groping the firm muscle of Mingi’s inner thigh. Mingi flexed them around Yunho’s waist, eager for praise; which he got in the form of a bite to his inner thigh. Mingi cried out, a jolt travelling straight to his cock at the spike of pain.

“Yunho-hyung,” Mingi tried, urging him closer. “Kiss me, please.” 

Yunho didn’t need any further encouragement. He captured Mingi’s lips with his own, at first kissing him chastely, in direct contrast to the fingers he pushed into Mingi’s ass right after. Mingi whined into the kiss; Yunho licked into his mouth, swallowing Mingi’s desperate noises and snaking a hand down in between them to grip Mingi’s erection.

“Wh-...Hyung, Yunho-hyung, wait a minute,” Mingi pulled back and protested, even as he bucked up into Yunho’s hand. “I wanna, with you,” he panted, latching onto Yunho’s shoulders.

 _Cute,_ Yunho thought, for probably the millionth time that afternoon. “I just want to make you feel good,” Yunho said, honestly. They were so close their breath was mingling, eyes wide and dilated and only seeing each other. 

“Jeong Yunho-hyung,” Mingi huffs. “You gotta fuck me.” His glare might seem more menacing if Yunho didn’t have his fingers thrusting in and out the idol’s ass.

“I _gotta_ , huh?” Yunho raises an eyebrow, ignoring Mingi’s cry at the increase in the pace of Yunho’s hand in jerking him off. “Bossy,” Yunho mouths into Mingi’s neck, sucking at his adam’s apple. Mingi’s moans increase sharply in volume, and Yunho grins, smug, into the junction between his neck and shoulder.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, steadfastly ignoring the throbbing in his own cock. He delivers one last squeeze to the head of the younger’s cock, curls his fingers _just right_ , and Mingi seizes up beautifully.

Mingi can feel tears in his eyes when he finally comes, caught between pressing _up_ into Yunho’s hand or _down_ onto Yunho’s hand. Yunho leans over and kisses the wetness on his cheeks as he sobs the older’s name, white come decorating his stomach and chest.

When Mingi’s somewhat come down from the height of stimulus, Yunho kisses him again, softly. 

“Can I try something?” he breathes, wholly affected by Mingi’s display.

Mingi, lax and loose-limbed from his orgasm, smiles prettily at him and spreads his thighs.

“Wanna fuck you all relaxed,” Yunho explains, fisting his cock and lining it up, finally, with Mingi’s entrance. Mingi’s breath catches in anticipation, muscles pliant and welcoming as Yunho works his cock in, hips moving in short, smooth little thrusts. “Love you like this, all soft and sated,” Yunho pants. 

A bit of encroaching clarity breaks through Mingi’s post-orgasm haze, and his stupid needy brain latches onto the words; wonders if Yunho means them, if Yunho would ever say _love you_ so honestly outside of this context. Mingi shakes it off; focuses on getting Yunho off and making him feel just as good as Mingi did.

“You take it so well, knew you would,” Yunho praises, drawing back until he’s almost pulled out before thrusting hard into Mingi, the _slap slap slap_ of skin audible. He’s pressing what must be fingerprint-shaped bruises into Mingi’s hips, and every other thrust he nails Mingi’s prostate head-on. Mingi wasn’t sure he even had another orgasm in him, but his dick obviously disagrees.

“Yunho-hyung, pleaseplease _please_ \- “ Mingi begged, not sure what he was pleading for. Yunho didn’t need an explanation, though - just pushed one of Mingi’s legs flat on the bench and the other straight in the air and continued fucking him at a different angle, deeper and harder with the better leverage.

When Yunho was nearing his climax, he thrust in deep and grinded his cock into Mingi’s ass one last time before pulling out and pressing his and Mingi’s erections together, big hand working to bring them off as one.

Mingi brought him down for a kiss, and after a few rough tugs they came, gasping into each other’s mouths as they made an utter mess of the massage bench.

\----------

 

“Mingi-ah. There are literally no cons to going back to the massage therapist’s. Why do you have to fight me on this?” Yeosang frowned down at his stubborn charge. Mingi refused to meet his eyes.

Yeosang - and virtually everyone else who knew he had gone to Yunho’s - were ecstatic when Mingi came back, looking about as alive as they’d seen him since he was a teenager. He had a pep in his step, he was friendlier, and most of all he kept a normal work ethic and performed well. 

It didn’t last.

As the weeks went by, Mingi got increasingly sulky. He fell back into old habits - he ate poorly, slept poorly, worked poorly - and his tour was set to take off in only a week. Everyone figured Mingi just needed a second dose of Dr. Yunho’s magical massagery! _No_ , Mingi thought vindictively. _I wish I hadn’t ever gone in the first place._ He didn’t dare to voice this opinion to his manager - after all, what happened in that clinic was a secret Mingi planned to carry to his grave.

“We thought you might do this, and I didn’t want to have to be the bearer of bad news, but,” Yeosang hedged, after a moment of silence. “The therapist you saw last time? Jeong Yunho? We’ve hiredhimaspartofourstaff and he’llbegoingontourwithus.” 

Yeosang, wisely, ducked out of the room before Mingi could could even begin indignantly hollering a multitude of rude words at him, and shoved someone else through the doorframe to suffer his wrath instead.

“Here he is! Treat him well and,” Yeosang stage whispered to the newcomer, “he’s really not as scary as he seems!” And with that, Mingi’s manager was gone.

“I know he’s not,” Jeong Yunho said. Belatedly. Mingi stared at him incredulously for a moment, before looking pointedly at literally anything other than Yunho’s obnoxiously charming boyish good looks. He folded his arms self-consciously.

“Sorry if they bullied you into coming here.” Mingi yanked at a string coming off of his sleeve. “You can go. I’ll sort out all the paperwork and stuff, severance fees, whatever. You don’t have to worry.”

Yunho frowned. “I wasn’t...bullied into coming here,” he said, slowly, trying to find the words.

Mingi just heard hesitance. He laughed without any humor. “I’m serious, you can go.”

After their...activities, in the massage clinic, Yunho had been the utmost gentleman. They’d cleaned up, talked for over an hour about their respective jobs and struggles and desires. Yunho was funny, and charming, and seemed like he _liked Mingi,_ so before he left Mingi had shyly pressed his phone number into Yunho’s palm and fled.

And Yunho never called. And that was fine, that was completely alright. Because Mingi was an idiot who could fall in love at the snap of the fingers and Yunho was, naturally, turned off by it. It’s whatever. Maybe fucking somebody in his massage clinic really was an everyday thing for Yunho.

“You’re not listening, Mingi-ah,” Yunho reprimanded, and Mingi blinked to see he was much closer than before. Mingi squinted up at him.

“I literally had to get in contact with your agency again and pitch my services because _I lost your personal phone number._ ” Yunho admitted in a rush.

Mingi blinked owlishly. “Can you say that again, please?”

“...I lost your personal phone number.”

“I’m sorry can you just, once mo-”

Yunho, raised his hands - pretty, capable, deft hands - and cupped Mingi’s cheeks, leaning in and kissing him soundly. Their noses knocked a bit, and there was a quick clink of teeth from the hurried nature of the kiss, but it still felt so painfully familiar. Mingi hardly moved, just accepted the firm press of lips against his in shock. Yunho backed off, gradually, staring at him seriously.

“I’ll just be your massage therapist from now if, y’know, that’s what you really want. But. I was kinda hoping we could be boyfriends too?” Yunho cleared his throat. “So, Song Mingi-ah, please come get ice cream or something with me. I’m sorry I lost your number and made you cry.” At the end of his little proposition, Yunho winked at him, grinning teasingly. There was a note of unsureness to his smile, though, easy to miss.

Mingi snapped out of his shock and smacked Yunho’s arm at the accusation.

“I _never_ cried - !”

“Ow, ow, okay! You never cried! You never cry! Not once! Is that what you want to hear?!”

Mingi beamed at him, eyes crinkling up.

“....hyung, where was the, uh, ice cream place? If you still wanna go…”

**Author's Note:**

> I should very much be working on SMATIB but.....I had to write this. I Had To  
> please leave a comment and a kudos they make my dumb author brain happy even if this is kinda straight trash!  
> follow me on twt @dayatiny  
> and special shoutout to the CAW gc for enabling me i love you guys hehe


End file.
